


Santa Rosa

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [80]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being snowed in for Christmas Eve has its rewards and its regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santa Rosa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grey853](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/gifts).



It started with a twinge in his shoulder.  The twinge became an ache and turned into a solid throbbing.  Illya had downed several aspirin and gritted his teeth.  They had a full restaurant and they were all going full out.

The forecasters had been mumbling about a big storm for a week now, but Illya never paid them any mind.  As far as he was concerned, forecasters were about as accurate as most politicians’ stats were.  Always over-blown to the point of unbelievability, especially if an election was coming up.  For accurate weather forecasting, Illya used his body.   If it was going to rain, the long-healed break in his arm ached.  If a front was coming through, his sinuses told him.  And if it was going to snow, his shoulder twinged.  This pain, however, was taking it out a whole new door.

“Hey, Rand, what have you heard about that storm?”

“They are screaming storm of the century.   I’m not so sure.”

Beneath his breath, Illya murmured, “I am.”  Loudly, he shouted, “Matt, can you take over for me?”

 _“Certamente, cara_ ,”  Matt shouted back.  He wiped his hands on a towel and hurried across the kitchen to Illya’s side.   “Is there a problem?”

“Not yet.  I just need to talk to Roxanne for a moment.”  He sighed at the number of tags waiting.  “It might be a while.  It looks as if we have quite a crowd out there.”

“Take your time, _Cara_.  We will be here upon your return.”

Illya took a moment to exchange his soiled chef’s coat for a new one and turn his apron around before heading out into the restaurant.

It was just good business sense to stop and exchange a few words with his patrons.  Regulars were made to feel a bit more at home and a welcomed part of the family while new customers were made to feel special by the attention of the _Chef de Cuisine_.

It took Illy a full ten minutes to make his way from the kitchen to the front of the restaurant.

Roxanne was just hanging up the phone.  The bar was filled and the air was charged with excitement and happiness.  This was when Illya felt the most alive.  He’d thought his time at UNCLE had been the high point of his career, but UNCLE had just been an app for now.

“May I help you, Chef?” Roxanne asked as she checked her book, anticipating his question.

“Roxanne, I need you to work your magic.”   He rubbed his shoulder as he spoke.  “What do we look like for tomorrow night?”

Tomorrow was December 23rd, the last night they would be open until New Year’s Eve.  While some other restaurateurs questioned the sanity of Illya closing that week, he knew better.  The first year, they had barely managed to make payroll that week.  The second year was a bit better, but theirs was a small community.  Here the holidays were about family and friends, not eating at a local restaurant.   Illya discovered that by giving his employees the week between Christmas and New Year’s off as a paid vacation, he actually saved money and had much happier employees.

“Um, we have some bookings, no parties over six, though. And we are quiet after nine. What’s going on?”

“I need you to work your magic and clear the book.  I have a feeling about this storm and I don’t want to put either my family or my customers at risk.”

Roxanne smiled and nodded.  “What’s on the table?”

“Ah, free entrée or bottle of wine up to $25.”

“I’ll make it happen, Chef.”

“Thank you.”

He turned and started the long walk back to the kitchen.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Napoleon dusted the snow off his shoulders and stamped his feet.  The forecasters had warned them that this storm was going to pack a wallop and they weren’t kidding.  By ten a.m. the snow was nearly up to Napoleon’s knees.    It was a shame that it was just a few days to Christmas, but they had been so dry for so long, no one was complaining too much.

A snow plow drove by and tooted his horn at Napoleon.  Napoleon waved and watched the vehicle scrape its way down the road.  

Not surprisingly, there were only a few cars in the parking lot that Vinea and Taste shared.  It had been plowed earlier, but the snow was accumulating fast.  Napoleon made a quick decision and headed back out into the storm.

His employees glanced over at him and then returned to the customers in the store.  Napoleon walked straight to the tasting bar and gestured his assistant manager over.

“Heather, these are your last customers of the day.  I want you guys to head home.  I’m calling a snow day – with pay.”  Napoleon knew how his employees, like Illya’s, counted on a steady and dependable paycheck.  “I want you to close up shop and get out of here.”

“What about our customers?”

“I will see if I can hurry them along.”

Several sales and even more cautionary words to drive safely, and Napoleon was wading his way back to the small house he shared with Illya.  The last car had just made it out of the parking lot and already the tire tracks were hidden.

Napoleon paused on the small porch to take off his hat and shake it free of snow.  His jacket and gloves followed.  Lastly, he pulled off his boots and gingerly stepped inside.

Instantly, he began to warm not just from the heat, but from the feeling that the room emoted.  The whole atmosphere was charged with a sense of well-being.  Napoleon loved Christmas and all its traditions.  The room was decorated from top to bottom with the trimmings of the season.

A tall Douglas fir stopped just a fraction of an inch short of the ceiling.   It was glowing from the numerous lights Napoleon had strung.  When he was a child, the tree was never lit until after dark due to the expense of the electricity.  Now Napoleon left the lights on as much as he could.  It gave him an enormous sense of contentment.   Every ornament was placed just so.  Every light was carefully situated. While Illya offered encouragement, he left the tree trimming up to his lover and partner.

Suddenly, one of the branches rustled and nearby ornaments bounced.  One came loose and toppled to the ground.  Its fall was broken by some brightly wrapped gifts and it came to a stop at Napoleon’s feet.  In an instant, Napoleon snatched up the ornament and was beside the tree and reached in to pull out a small cat. “Fremir, what have we said about climbing the Christmas tree?”

The cat twisted in his grip and chirped, while still reaching for a glass peacock.  Napoleon put her down and watched her race upstairs, pausing to glare at him between the spindles.  “You’d better run,” Napoleon muttered.  He hung up a few ornaments that had been knocked to the floor.  Thankfully the tree skirt and packages had kept any from breaking… this time.

Napoleon took a deep breath.  Aside from the smell of pine from the tree and the fresh boughs that decorated the room, there was another aroma and it was coming from the kitchen.  Slapping his hands together in happy expectation, Napoleon headed to the kitchen, pausing only long enough to give the blazing log in the fireplace a poke.

The kitchen was overly warm, even with the back door open.  Illya was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, a white apron tied around his waist.  Music was playing from the small radio he had sitting on the window sill.  He glanced over his shoulder as Napoleon entered and then returned to his work.

Napoleon walked up behind him and slipped his arms around Illya’s waist.  “Hey, good looking, what’s cookin’?”

“Persimmon pudding,” Illya said, his focus upon a mixing bowl.  He dipped his finger into whatever he was mixing and held it back over his shoulder.

Napoleon instantly sucked the finger into his mouth, cleaning it of the chocolate ganache.  Then he refused to release it.

“In one of those moods, are you?”  Illya pulled his finger free forcefully and turned in Napoleon’s grasp to face him.

“Would you mind?”

“Is this a trick question?”  Illya kissed him quickly.  “Can you give me five to make sure everything here is secure?

“I waited a lifetime for you, what’s five more minutes?”  Napoleon opened his arms and Illya moved away, heading back to the stove.

“I will try to be quick.”  Illya took the ganache and placed in a warm water bath and turned down the burner beneath the steaming pudding.  “It looks like a mess out there.”

“It is.  Pat is plowing, but it’s a losing battle.  I closed Vinea.  Whatever business I lose today is worth it knowing my guys are safe.”

“Your guys, as you refer to your staff, are probably on the road to Sutter Creek to finish their own Christmas shopping.”

“What they do away from the store is their business.  I just didn’t want them to be caught at the store.  It’s a near blizzard out there and I’m from Vermont.  I know blizzards.”

“Good call.  I closed Taste about an hour ago.  Strangely enough, none of the staff seemed to mind.”

“Are you going to lose much business?”

“Not really.  When I heard the storm was coming, I had Roxanne rearrange everything.  If the storm fizzled out, I was going to use the time to work on New Year’s.   Most folks know we aren’t open for Christmas, so there wasn’t much to worry about.”  Illya took a baking sheet out of the oven and set it on a cooling rack.  He turned off the heat and left the oven door ajar.

“Are you saying we have a day, an actual day, to ourselves?”  Napoleon reached for a cookie and Illya slapped his hand.  He picked up a frosted cookie and held it out as a substitute.

“Here.  If you try to eat those, you will burn your tongue.  I have plans for that.”

Napoleon crunched into the cookie happily, his eyes closed at the explosion of flavors.  “As I was saying, a day to ourselves.  Apparently Santa has come early this year.”

“There is a bad joke to make out of that, but I’d prefer to leave it to the expert.”

A slow song started on the radio and Napoleon set the cookie down and held a hand out to Illya.  With a shake of his head, Illya took it and they moved slowly around the kitchen, mostly just rocking back and forth with the music.

“Do you know how much I love you,” Napoleon murmured as the song ended.  Illya stayed in his arms.

“Tell me…”  The phone interrupted him and he looked anxiously at the instrument.

“Ignore it,” Napoleon said, but even as he did so, he knew he’d lost the moment.

“I can’t.  It’ll just take me a minute.”  

Napoleon retrieved his cookie and a couple more for good measure and retreated back into the living room even as Illya picked up the phone receiver.  He knew from experience that a call could last anywhere for a few seconds to several minutes, depending who was on the other end of the phone.

He settled down on the couch and stretched out, staring out the front window.  The snow was still falling and he could hear the wind picking up.  However, the fire was crackling and they had plenty of firewood stacked on the porch.  Their larder was full and he was quiet content to let the world hang itself.

Brunir jumped up onto the back of the couch and eased down on the arm, chirping at Napoleon.  He reached out and scratched the young cat’s head and instantly Roux was right there.

“You just can’t stand to be left out, can you?”  Napoleon talked to the cats now as if they understood him, something he’d never done before meeting Illya.  Roux purred and angled under his hand, pushing her larger brother out of the way.  Napoleon laughed and finished his cookies.  Both cats busied themselves by cleaning up crumbs from Napoleon’s lap.

Fremir watched from beneath a pile of tissue paper, something Napoleon had set out to distract them from the colorfully wrapped gifts already beneath the tree.  He already knew the ploy was destined to fail, but he was strangely okay with that.

Roux settled onto Napoleon’s outstretched legs and Brunir began to clean her.  Napoleon settled a hand behind his head and just let the moment carry him.

 

                                                                                ****

Illya watched Napoleon as he walked out of the kitchen and he lifted the receiver.  “Kuryakin.”

“Rand, Chef.  I just got your message.  Are you sure about tonight?”

“I am.”

“Thank God.  I have nearly a foot of snow in my driveway and I just finished shoveling.  I was wondering how I was going to get out tonight.”

“Do me a favor and stay home.”

“Consider the way it looks outside, I will.  Besides, the boys want to go sledding and it’s been ages since I’ve gone.”

“Be careful and don’t hurt anything that won’t be healed by New Year’s.”

“Got it.  Merry Christmas, Illya.”

“And to you and your family, Rand.”  Illya hung up the phone and checked the oven.  The bread that was baking had a few more minutes.  If he left now, the chances of it burning were rather high.  When he was with Napoleon, Illya tended to develop tunnel vision. 

He moved the cookies from the baking sheet to a wire rack and carried the sheet back to the counter.   He only had a couple more sheets and he’d be thankfully done with the Christmas baking.  He made a face, glanced back at the kitchen door and then came to a fast decision.

Placing the remainder of the dough on the sheet, he put them into the oven and noted the time.  Then the light over the sink flickered and Illya sighed. 

Forewarned is forearmed and he walked quickly to their storage room for a handful of candles.  He made a habit of bringing home all the partially used candles from Taste.  Matt would tease him, but it was a case of waste not, want not.  They were too small for the restaurant, but they did just fine in one of their many power outages.  And the way the wind was whistling, another outage was in the making.

He placed several on the table along with holders and found a couple of lighters.  Setting them all in one spot would make using them easier.  It was still light out, but that wouldn’t be for long.  At least with a gas stove, he didn’t have to worry about not being able to cook something.

Illya busied himself with cleaning up until the last batch of cookies was out of the oven.  Smiling, he selected a couple from a plate and went to make his apologies to Napoleon.

He walked out of the kitchen and stopped at the sight.  Napoleon was sprawled out on the couch, snoring softly.  The cats looked up at him as he approached quietly.  Illya smiled lovingly at his partner and gently laid a handmade quilt over him.  The cats immediately began to angle for better positions, but Illya let them to it.  They were experts at such things.

Illya went to the front closet and grabbed his jacket, gloves and boots before heading back to the kitchen.  The walk to Taste was shorter through the front door, but the blast of cold air would wake Napoleon and Illya didn’t want that.

Illya opened the kitchen door and his eyes widened.  The snow was easily piled hip deep by now and the parking lot was a sea of white.  Gritting his teeth, he plunged into the snow and started wading his way to the restaurant.

Inside, it took him just a few minutes to check the generator and make sure the automatic trip was on.  He wasn’t really worried about food spoilage as much as he was burst pipes.  They winterized, but he still didn’t trust such things.

He followed the path he cut earlier back to the house and breathed a sigh of relief once back inside.  This was a good stay to stay home.  He could only hope his friends had the same common sense.

 

                                                                                                ***

Lips pressed gently against his forehead, encouraging Napoleon to open his eyes.  The room was dark save a dozen glowing candles and Illya was backlit.

“You looks like an angel,” he murmured, still half asleep. “Did we lose power?”

“It came back on about an hour ago.”  Illya rested his cheek against Napoleon’s head.

“An hour?  How long have I been asleep?”

“I’d say three, almost four hours.”

“What?”  Napoleon struggled to sit up but he was weighed down by cats.  “You should have woken me up!”

“Why?  You were tired and it gave me a chance to finish my baking and get dinner ready without any distractions.”

“But I thought you liked my distractions.”

“I do, but there are times when I need to focus.”  He caressed Napoleon’s face.  “Now you need to go get cleaned up for dinner.”

Napoleon turned his face slightly away from Illya to yawn.  “Are we expecting guests?”

“You need to look outside.  The only thing I’m expecting tonight is another power outrage.”  The house cracked loud as if in agreement.  Illya handed Napoleon a flashlight.  “Just in case.”

Napoleon nodded, sleepily.  He untangled himself from the blanket and cats and headed up the stairs, leaving behind three grumpy felines.  He washed his face, brushed his teeth and felt halfway awake.  He was trying to decide whether or not to shave when the bathroom was plunged into darkness.

“Well, I guess that’s my answer.”  Napoleon replaced his electric razor to the counter.  “I should have charged it this morning.”

“Are you okay?”  Illya shouted from downstairs.

“I’m good.  I’ll be right there.”  He paused to grab a quilt from the bed and walked back down to the first floor.  He tossed the quilt onto the couch and immediately the cats began to burrow into it.  “Just in case we have to sleep down here tonight.” He explained as he walked to the table.

“It wouldn’t be the first night we’ve spent on the couch.”  Illya set down the platter he was carrying and Napoleon made a small appreciative noise.

“Meatloaf!  My favorite!”  Any sleepiness Napoleon felt vanished at the sight.  How did you know I had a craving for this?”

“We haven’t had it in a few weeks,” Illya offered by way of explanation.  “Would you like to light the rest of the candles while I get everything else?”

Napoleon did just that and then turned his attention to a more important matter – picking out the best wine for the evening.  “Can you find some Christmas music on that radio of yours?”

“The challenge is not finding it being this close to Christmas.”  Illya carried in a bowl of mashed potatoes and another filled with roasted root vegetables.   He disappeared once more and then the strains of a choir rendering _Carol of the Bells_.  Illya grinned.  “This was written by a Ukrainian,” he announced proudly as he sat.

“So you tell me every year.”  The cork came out of the bottle with a soft _pop_ and Napoleon poured a small bit in a glass, passing it to Illya before doing the same to his.  He swirled the wine around, sniffed, swirled and sniffed again.  Then he sipped noisily at the red liquid, introducing even more air into the wine.  “Very good, he announced.  “A perfect match.”

“That’s a relief.”  Illya held his untasted glass out for more.  “I’d hate to have to throw out perfectly good meatloaf just because it didn’t go with your wine choice.”

“Your meatloaf?  Not a chance.”

                                                                                ****

They were stretched out in front of the fire, listening to the wind and the crackle of the logs.  “What do you think?  Should we sleep down here tonight?”  Napoleon poured a splash more wine in his glass.

“I left the door open to the guest room, so it should be warmer.  I think it would be easier there than having to come down here every couple of hours to check the fire.”  Illya settled against Napoleon chest comfortably and sighed.

“So, tell me, little boy, what would you like Santa to bring you this year?”

“Little?”  Illya half turned.  “Perhaps Santa needs a lesson in biology.”

“Mmm, Santa would be delighted, but you are avoiding my question.  What would you like for Christmas?”

“Napoleon, there is a _bone fide_ blizzard out there and tomorrow is Christmas Eve.  I think Santa has lost his shopping privileges.

“Illya…”

“New feet.”  Illya stretched his stocking feet out to the fire.  “I could do with new feet.”

“Turn around and lay down on your back.”

“Music to my ears,” Illya said, obliging.  What he expected wasn’t what he got as Napoleon picked up one of Illya’s feet and began to gently massage it.  All that Illya could manage was a gurgle of happiness.

“You know, you really are a cheap date, Kuryakin.”

“Granted.”  Illya sighed happily and licked his lips.  “Just don’t stop.”

Napoleon smiled and continued, humming a Christmas song to himself.  He swapped feet and started the process all over again, working each toe, then the arch, firmly but gently.  When he was satisfied by his partner’s current state, he worked up to Illya’s ankle, then his calf.  Illya’s head came up from the pillow when Napoleon got to his thigh.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about this.”

“Forget sex with you, not likely.”  Napoleon loosened Illya’s belt and then worked the zipper of Illya’s fly down carefully.  “Lift up a bit.”

Illya obliged and Napoleon slid the jeans off.  Illya’s penis strained against the thin cotton of his underwear.  “Now there’s something I like to see.”  He glanced up at Illya and paused.  “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”  Illya propped himself up onto his elbows.  “How could anything be wrong?”

“Exactly, but I’ve known you for many years, my love, and I know sadness when I see it.  What is it?”

“I can’t make it not sound selfish or needy, so just forget it.  Do something to take my mind off it.”

“I intend to.”  Napoleon stretched out beside Illya.  “But not until you tell me what’s going on in the head of yours.  Remember, no secrets?”

“It’s just…”  Illya plopped back and listened to the storm raging outside.  “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

“Yes.”

“We… I mean, I… I have everything I should need to make me happy.   I have food and warmth.”  He paused to stroke Napoleon’s cheek.  “I have more love than I’ve ever had or think I deserve.”

“But…”

Illya sighed.  “This will be the first Christmas Eve that I haven’t spent with my family.”

Napoleon cleared his throat.  “Illya, you haven’t been with your family for years.”

“Not my biological family, blockhead.”  Illya gave Napoleon’s head a gentle push to take the sting out of the insult.  “I meant my Taste family.  Since I moved here, I’ve spent every Christmas Eve with them, if only for an hour or two.  Most of them started with me and I am going to missing spending time with them this year.  How lame is that?”

“I don’t think that’s lame at all, _Amante_.”  Napoleon ran fingers up Illya’s thigh.  “I think a lot of employers would love to have that sort of close connection with their staff. I take care of my staff, but in the end, they are just that, staff.  You, you have a connection with Taste that goes beyond the doors and the paycheck.”  Napoleon let his fingers continue to explore. “And I wouldn’t call them out for the count just yet.  They are a resourceful lot.”   He dragged a fingernail over Illya’s penis and smiled at the soft gasp.  “I’d say you are a lucky man.”  

“How lucky?”

Napoleon lowered his mouth and whispered, “Very lucky.”

                                                                ****

It took Illya a moment or two to figure out where he was.  Somehow, they’d managed to crawl from in front of the fire into the guest bedroom and into the bed.  It was a double compared to their queen size upstairs and they were cocooned in the center of it.  The house seemed chilly, but Illya could hear the furnace running in between Napoleon’s snores.  Illya wondered what had woken him up.

Illya shifted a foot and encountered something.  A chirp followed and there was movement.  A moment later Brunir peeked into Illya’s little cave and began to purr.  Illya knew they couldn’t be hungry.  He’d actually taken a moment to open and put down some food for them the last time he’d gotten up to check the fire.

The little cat settled down and Illya was starting to doze off.  The knowledge that they were snowed in with nothing to do or any place to go seemed conducive to more sleep.  God knows he could use it.

He was just about asleep when he heard something and opened his eyes again.  This time he pulled his watch from the nightstand and looked at it.  It was nearly noon.

The noise came from the window again and Illya sat up and stretched before reaching for his robe.   Pulling it on, he walked over and pushing the curtain aside.  White exploded in his face and he jumped back with a shout that brought Napoleon straight up in bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Some moron is throwing snowballs at our window.”  Illya dropped the top pane rather than trying to lift the bottom one and fight the snow.  “What do you want?” he shouted at the bundled up figure.  The knitted hat was pulled off to reveal Matt.

“Come out and play, _Cara!”_ Matt waved an arm and Illya realized that several people were gathered in the shared parking lot of Taste and Vinea.  The snow had been cleared away and a fire was burning.  There were kids building snowmen and tables being set up to hold treats.

“I’ll be damned,” Napoleon murmured, coming up behind Illya.  He waved back.  “We’ll be out in a few minutes.  There’s all kinds of stuff in the kitchen.  Help yourself!”

“Excuse me?”  Illya looked back.  “I thought those were yours.”

“It’s more fun to share.”

                                                                                **** 

Napoleon looked around their very cramped living room.  It was filled with people, laughing, talking, and just enjoying the Christmas cheer.  Jesus’s boys and Rand’s twins stretched out in front of the fire, playing a board game with Roxanne and Henry.  Rocky and Jesus were at the dining room table, refreshing the eggnog while Maria, Jesus’s wife, replenished the sandwiches and apps.  Illya, Rand, and Matt sat on the couch, arguing about something Napoleon had no interest in while Stella and Celeste played with the cats in the strewn-about wrapping paper.

Illya was right.  This was his family.  And Napoleon’s as well.  He missed his days in Vermont with his folks, but those days were gone.  His sister had moved away as had her children.  Only Winston kept in touch with them these days and even that was sporadic at best.

No, this was their family now and he smiled happily.  Illya happened to look up then and smiled back.  

“Hey, Napoleon, how about a song?”

“Please, don’t let him sing,” Illya implored even as he was reaching for his guitar.

Napoleon laughed.  “I know just the song.  Maestro, _There’s No Place like Home for the Holidays._   Because for the holidays, you can’t beat home, sweet home. _”_


End file.
